


Pense Toujours À Toi

by gloriouscacophony



Series: Suite Amoureux [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal, Blow Jobs, Couch Sex, Diners, Floor Sex, M/M, Motels, Reunions, Smut, human!Benny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-12
Updated: 2013-03-06
Packaged: 2017-11-29 00:42:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/680722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloriouscacophony/pseuds/gloriouscacophony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Years after Dean left Benny and the small town in Louisiana behind, he and Sam return to investigate a series of disappearances. Dean, no longer seventeen and inexperienced, finds himself just as attracted to Benny even after so much time has passed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. part i

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Dreadelion (dreadelion.tumblr.com) because dammit, she made me ship twink!Dean/bear!Benny.
> 
> I also blame ymmy12 here on AO3 for planting the idea of doing a sequel in my brain.

 

 

 

 

Sam keeps sneaking glances at him from the passenger seat of the Impala, and Dean knows why. He’s twitchy, fingers drumming on his thigh or constantly changing position on the steering wheel, left knee jiggling. All he can do is hope Sam doesn’t ask, because if he asks Dean will either have to lie—and Sam will see right through him, like usual—or tell the truth, and it’s not something (someone) he wants to share with Sam.

The motel is still there, even if it does look like it won’t be for much longer. The paint’s peeling and the doors are rusty, but then again, that was the case all those years ago when Dad had dumped them here. When they get a room, Dean takes the bed closest to the door, and an uncomfortable sense of deja vu harasses him. It’s all the same but not, and the difference is unsettling. He’s no longer that seventeen-year-old virgin, Sam’s a grown-ass man too, their father is dead, and Benny…well, who knows. He grabs his jeans off the floor, careful not to jangle his belt buckle, and digs in the pockets for the paper he knows is there.

Benny Lafitte. An address, a phone number. Based on the maps they’ve studied, he doesn’t live far from the motel, a few miles out in the middle of nowhere. He can let Sammy do the interviews about the disappearances this time, take the Impala and drive to find out…to find out…what? If the offer from decades ago still stands? If Benny even remembers him? He should forget this whole thing, forget that night he spent getting fucked so well that he still remembers, even when he’s been with so many men and women that he’s lost count. He groans into his pillow and rolls to press his hardening dick into the mattress, hoping to banish his erection because there’s nothing he can do about it with Sam only a few feet away.

The groan turns into a sigh of defeat, because he knows himself all too well. Tomorrow he’s going to look for Benny.

 

 

Dean doesn’t tell Sam he’s on his own until they pull up to the police station. Sam’s talking his ear off about the disappearances until Dean shoves him toward the door.

“Yeah, all right, sounds good. You go talk to Sheriff Small-Town, and I’ll meet you back here tonight.”

“Wait, what? Where are you going?”

“I gotta…it’s personal stuff, Sam.”

Sam’s expression turns even more incredulous. “Personal stuff? Since when do you have ‘personal stuff’?”

“Just leave it, all right?” Dean snaps. Sam slams the door as he leaves the car, shooting his brother a glare that, coupled with the tight set of his jaw, means Dean’s going to have some explaining to do later.

The directions he’d written down earlier take Dean out of town and onto a dusty, cracked road. As he drives farther, his heart sinks; clearly, that map site Sam always uses was wrong. He’s starting to sweat in the stupid blue suit he’d worn to keep Sam from getting suspicious—hell, he’d only bought it because Sam had bitched that a slimmer-fitting suit was more in style and therefore less suspicious (he is personally suspicious that Sam knows what’s in style and could really not give a shit)—but it’s too late to change into something else. He peels off the jacket and whips it into the backseat as he swears at the stifling humidity, almost knocking his sunglasses off in the process.

Just when he’s about to turn around and head back to town for a consolation beer, he sees the house (right where the directions said it would be, he hears in his head in Sam’s voice). The mailbox atop its crooked post doesn’t have a name, but he pulls up the gravel drive anyway and parks next to a gray pickup.

He’s sweating more, but it isn’t just from the heat. If this is Benny’s place, what then? What the hell is he even doing here, chasing a one-night stand when there are people missing, lives that need saving? But Dean’s up and out of the Impala before he realizes he’s moved. His legs take up him the front steps onto the porch so that his hand can ring the plastic doorbell. No one answers, and he wipes his palms on his thighs, cursing silently at himself. This is frigging ridiculous, just because he used to live here and had a frigging truck like that—

The door opens, and it’s Benny.

He looks so much like he did that it punches the air from Dean’s lungs.

“Can I help you?” Christ, he even sounds the same, if much less friendly towards the stranger standing on his porch than he was to the boy from the diner.

“I, uh—” Dean fumbles his sunglasses off as he tries to speak. Benny’s eyes widen when he sees his eyes, still the same vibrant green all these years later.

“Dean?”

Dean chuckles nervously. “Yeah, long time, right? Sammy and I have a case nearby—actually, right in town—and I still had your address so I figured—”

“—you still had what I wrote down for you?”

His eyes are searching Dean’s, studying the new lines on his face and the set to his jaw that’s tougher than before. Dean realizes that Benny’s asked him something and he should probably answer instead of standing there like a lovesick teenage girl.

“I kept it,” he answers quietly, “y’know, just in case.”

Benny smiles at him them, a broad grin full of warmth. “Well, I’m still here.” They study each other for another moment or two, until Benny realizes they’re still standing awkwardly in the doorway. “I apologize. Come in for a drink?”

Dean follows Benny inside, heading down a short hallway to the kitchen. Benny rustles around the refrigerator, leaving Dean to lean back against the cool tile counter and look around. The kitchen’s small but tidy, with no pictures or drawings on the fridge—probably no wife or kids, then, he thinks, remembering the report cards and family photos covering Lisa’s fridge. Benny hands him an ice-cold bottle, grabs one for himself, and leads him into the living room, where Dean settles on the worn sofa and Benny takes the armchair.

“Old enough to drink now,” Benny quips after a mouthful of beer, and Dean chuckles.

“Well, it’s been a while, man. Hell of a long time.” He shifts against the cushions and tries to reconcile being on equal footing now with the power imbalance of their last meeting. He’s used to being in control, now. “Done a lot, since then.”

“Yeah, I can tell. What are you, a foot taller?”

Dean laughs and stretches an arm along the back of the couch. “A foot taller and a lot fatter. Been eating too much diner food on the road.”

“So you and your dad and brother still doin’ whatever it was that brought you here in the first place? Long time to spend driving cross-country.”

The mention of his father sobers Dean a bit, and he has to take a swig of beer before he speaks. “Yeah, Sammy’s finally grown up too, taking care of himself well enough. And I’m still there when he doesn’t. My dad…he, uh, he died a few years back.”

The sadness in Benny’s eyes is genuine. “Sorry to hear that, sugar.” The pet name slips out, surprising both of them it seems, and Dean can feel his face grow warm. Yet again Dean wonder how he’d had the balls to jump this guy, to seduce him into bed probably against better judgment, if a pet name makes him blush now. He’s lost some of the surety, after all he’s been through—literally to hell and back—though his younger self probably would have hoped that surviving so much shit would have the opposite effect.

“Nah, I’ve had time to get used to it. Still miss him, but me and Sammy do all right.” He rolls the bottle in his hands and looks back up at Benny through his lashes without raising his head. “You still work at the diner?”

“Yeah, still cooking for Diane, even though her daughter’s trying to get her to retire already. You should come over there for dinner, while you’re here, you and your brother. Never did get to meet him properly.”

“Well, last time we were in town, he was so high on painkillers he didn’t get to leave bed. It took both me and Dad to get him in and out of the car.” He laughs out loud at the memory of Sam literally drooling all over himself while he slept in the Impala. “Kid was heavier than he looked.”

Benny gives him a grin, quick and warm like the humid air. A sensation that’s definitely arousal twinges in Dean’s gut at the playful, interested light in the other man’s eyes, like the one he’d had when Dean was young and fumbling through life behind his tough-guy front Benny had seen right through. “So, uh, you all by yourself out here?” He mentally kicks himself as soon as the words are out of his mouth. Just because he’s a lonely drifter doesn’t mean Benny’s been unattached all these years or even for the majority of them. Just because they spent one night together years ago doesn’t mean he can, or should, ask something that brings them back down that path.

But Dean realizes they’ve leaned toward each other, drawn as if by magnets, and he knows he’s not the only one affected. Benny opens his mouth, manages to say, “Been for a whi—” before strains of guitar from the vicinity of Dean’s pocket cut them off.

When he flips it open, he can practically hear the bitchface Sam must be sporting. “Dean, I don’t know if you’re all done with your ‘personal stuff,’ but one of the girls who disappeared, Jenna May Prioux? They just found her body, and it looks like vamps. You need to get over here.”

Shit. With this many disappearances already, it could be a nest. “I’ll head back soon.” He snaps his phone shut, drains the last of his beer, and stands.

“Work calls. I’d better head back to town or Sam’s gonna throw a fit.”

Benny walks him out, leaning with crossed arms against the warped door-frame when Dean pauses on the porch. They’re close enough that Dean can see the sweat beading at Benny’s temples. For one crazy moment, Dean imagines leaning in to lick it away—then he realizes they’ve both shifted closer, yet again, so that there are a few scant inches between them. Dean looks right into Benny’s eyes (fuck, they’re practically the same height now), and he inhales sharply as his gaze drags instinctively down to Benny’s mouth, then back up.

“Your brother—” Benny breaks the silence, his voice a rumble that Dean wants to feel in his own chest through the contact of bare, sweaty skin (God, he still remembers that deep vibration).

“Yeah, Sammy’s waiting.” He steps back, down the first porch step, putting some space between them before he ends up staying far longer than he should. This sudden, consuming desire is something he needs to think about, even if admitting that is entirely chick-flick by his own standards. “We’ll, uh, come by the diner tonight or tomorrow, depending on how much research Sammy’s got for us.”

Benny nods, slowly taking in Dean in his tight suit, eyes raking down Dean’s body so that he can almost feel the caress. But then the man startles, as if he hadn’t realized he was giving Dean the once-over. “Sure thing, I’ll be there every night this week, so just stop by when you get the chance.”

It seems ridiculous to shake Benny’s hand, so Dean just nods back and heads for the Impala, trying to ignore the prickle at the back of his neck that says he’s still being watched. But by the time he’s seated inside, Benny’s disappeared from the porch. Dean sighs, smacks his head against the steering wheel a few times, and heads back to town.

 

 

Dean helps Sam carry in the handful of heavy books from the closest usable library (thirty minutes away) and the stack of paperwork on the disappearances and now Jenna May’s death. He’s not sure how Sam manages to wait until they’ve sat down, beers in hand (because even Sam drinks this early when it’s this damn hot out) and books spread across the motel table, to ask more about where he’d gone earlier.

“ ‘Personal stuff’, huh?”

Dean glares at his brother. “I told you, it’s nothing you need to worry about. Just someone I had to go see while we’re in town.”

“Do I even want to know how you know someone around here?”

He’s not surprised Sam doesn’t remember their last visit. “Remember that time you fell and damn near busted your head? And Dad wasn’t around, so I just kept you doped up on painkillers until he could get back?”

Sam winces at the memory. “Only bits and pieces, but that’s enough.”

“Yeah, well, this is the place we stayed—this motel, actually. So we’ve been here before, both of us.”

Sam gives his a long, searching look. “So…this person you had to go see, is she—”

He knows where Sam’s going, and he’s both right on the mark and way, way off. “First off, his name’s Benny—not a girl, dude.”

“So, you and he—” Sam makes a gesture that clearly implies what he thinks Dean and Benny got up to.

“Look, he’s just someone I know from around here, okay? Works at the diner, said we should stop by for dinner. So if you can get back to your geekery over there, we can wrap this up in time for some frigging burgers.”

Sam smirks at him. “Whatever, Dean, it’s not like I haven’t caught you with guys before.”

“Shut it, Sammy.” He finishes his beer and chucks the empty can at Sam’s head, ignoring the “Ow!” in response and Sam’s grumbling about beer stains on library books.

Four hours later, they’ve got a comprehensive list of all local disappearances for the last fifty years that look like they could be vamp attacks—and there are more of them than sits well with either Winchester. Sam had, of course, done most of the work, although to be fair, Dean had tried. But there’s more than vampires on his mind. He can’t help how his thoughts wander back to Benny, seeing him in person again…the lines of his muscles under his shirt, the hair too short to pull, the glimpse of skin where the buttons of his collar had been undone…he remembers what’s under those layers, albeit faintly after so long. Sam had tried a few times to snap him out of his reverie but had eventually just given him a sigh and left him to his thoughts.

But now they’re both ready for a break, and the diner is calling to Dean with the twin lures of mouthwatering food and equally mouthwatering…

“Dean, are we gonna go or are you just gonna sit there daydreaming about it?”

“Yeah, yeah, all right, don’t get your panties in a bunch.”

“I’m not the one who wears panties here, Dean.” Fuck. The triumphant grin Sam gives him is enough to dampen the mood a bit. So Dean gets the Impala before Sam, starts the engine, and drives a few feet just to see Sam flail and yell like an idiot before he stops and lets his brother in.

“Real mature,” he grumbles, but Dean just gives him a shit-eating grin of his own.

The diner is busy but not packed when they get there, enough cars in the gravel lot that Dean has to park towards the back to make sure he’s far enough away from anyone that his baby is safe. When they get inside, Dean follows Sam to a table, eyes immediately heading for the counter. He can just see Benny’s broad shoulders, facing towards the kitchen, behind the people seated on the stools. He mentally debates with himself about which side of the booth to take, but Sam solves his dilemma by taking the side facing away from the door…leaving Dean with a perfect view of the counter.

The waitress is perky, blonde, and cute, but Dean’s busy. Sam, however, gives her a broad smile after she takes their orders, and that’s enough to distract Dean for a moment.

“Nice, Sammy.” He says it without any sarcasm intended, but Sam still gives him a look.

“What, Dean?”

“Nothing, I’m just saying, she’s hot. You should ask her out.”

“Well, we’re probably going to be here for at least a few more days, depending on how long it takes us to track down these vamps. I’m gonna go talk to Jenna May’s parents, maybe you could go talk to the family of one of the other victims, see if they have any acquaintances in common, friends—sounds like this group’s been here for a while, but it could be someone new.”

“As long as I don’t have to read any more books where the author spells vampire with a Y, I’m good.”

“So, this guy you know, Benny, he here?” Sam gives the place a quick glance, searching, but doesn’t come up with anything until Dean gestures with a jut of his chin to the counter. Benny’s a little more visible, now that a few people have left the counter, wearing the same henley as earlier but now covered with a green, grease-splattered apron. Sam turns slowly to look over his shoulder, sees Benny, and whips back around to Dean with wide, questioning eyes, waiting for the waitress to leave after bringing their drinks.

“Him, Dean? You and he—”

“Would you keep it down, Sammy?” Dean hisses. “I told you, we didn’t—”

“Dean, I know you and I know that look, the one that says you’d rather have him for dinner than your burger. So cut the crap.”

Dean just splutters, unable to reply, but Sam pales suddenly. “Dean, wait, you said we were here when I fell, but that was in—” He can see the cogs of Sam’s giant nerd brain doing the math as his brother falls silent then sneaks another look over at Benny before turning back around. “Dean, you didn’t.”

“What, Sam?” Dean takes a drink of his water, pretending he doesn’t know what Sam is getting at, but they know each other too damn well.

“You were seventeen then, Dean.”

“Seventeen’s the age of consent here,” he shrugs, looking back over to the counter and hoping Sam will just drop it already.

Sam just gapes at him for a minute, then clears his throat. “Well, I, uh…I take it Dad never knew about him, then?”

“Dude, Dad never knew I…y’know.” It’s the most Dean’s going to say about it. Sam’s known for a long, long time, but it’s not something he wants to announce to everyone in the diner.

“Yeah, I know he didn’t, I just…wow, okay, so you just met this guy and went home with him?”

“That’s generally how it works, Sammy, which you’d know if you ever got laid. Speaking of which—” Their waitress has returned with Dean’s burger and fries and Sam’s salad.

“Anything else I can get for you?” she asks. But before Dean can ask for her number for Sam, his brother cuts him off.

“Could you tell Benny Dean’s here? My brother and he are friends.” He gives her a megawatt smile and she returns it before flouncing off, leaving Dean to gape at Sam in a feeling of utter betrayal.

“Sam, did you just do what I think you just did?”

Sam shoves a forkful of lettuce in his mouth and gives Dean a clueless look and a shrug. Dean’s tempted to hit him in the face hard enough to shove that salad down his throat, but then he freezes when he sees Benny looking over at their table. Their eyes meet and Benny gives him a small smile, just a twitch of his mouth, and gestures for Dean to come up to the counter. He leaves his burger, woefully untouched, and scooches out of the booth, walking around the tables to perch on the open stool. Benny hands a few plates off to a waitress, then turns back to him with a bigger smile, wiping his hands on his apron.

“Hey there.”

“Hey. Busy in here tonight.”

“It’s always like this right after something like that death,” Benny replies. “People need to talk, share their theories…” Benny leans an elbow on the counter. “Should die down soon though, it always does.”

“Hopefully without any more deaths though, right?” He smirks at Benny.

“Well, if it keeps you around…”

Dean has to laugh, a sound he hasn’t heard himself make in a long time. Benny chuckles too, at his own terrible line.

“We’ll be here for another few days at least,” Dean answers, half joking…but half hoping Benny picks up on what he’s not saying outright.

“That right?”

Dean only realizes they’re doing that leaning-closer thing when Benny’s hip is jostled and he straightens up. One of the other waitresses—not the perky blonde, who’s gone back to check on Sam yet again—gives Dean the once-over and winks at Benny.

“Your boy’s sure easy on the eyes but you’d better get back to cooking, darlin’, before we have a senior citizen riot on our hands at table five.”

“All right, Sherrie, all right.” He rolls his eyes at her back, but she calls over her shoulder, “I saw that eye roll, Lafitte!”

Dean gives Benny a wide-eyed look. “Looks like you’ve got your hands full up here.” He glances back over to the table where he left Sam, who’s watching the two of them with a little smirk on his face that tells Dean how his body language probably looks—like he’d like nothing better than to fire a few bullets into the air to clear out the civilians and ravish Benny over the counter. Sam always could read him well, dammit.

“Yeah, better get back to work. Be sure to stop up here before you leave so I can meet Sam.”

“Will do,” Dean says as he slides off the stool, but a few steps away, he turns around and heads back to the counter.

“Benny?” The man turns back around. “You want to get a drink later?”

Benny stops what he’s doing, frozen for just a moment as he looks at Dean. “Can’t tonight, but can I take a rain check?”

Dean’s heart sinks a little (may he deny it to his dying day, at least the next one) but he just raises his brows. “Something better to do?”

“Matter of fact, Diane needs help fixing her stove, and I promised I’d take a look after work.”

“I guess I can let it slide. But yeah, rain check.”

Benny just nods, that pale, piercing gaze doing funny things to Dean’s insides that are causing reactions he’d rather not have in a diner full of AARP members. So he nods back and walks back to his booth. Sam’s almost done with his salad, and Dean’s burger is going cold, but he could—for once—give a shit.

“Not a frigging word,” he warns Sam around a giant mouthful of food, “ ‘cept about the case.”

Sam looks disgusted by Dean talking with his mouth full, but pulls out his smartphone and starts blabbing about his theories of how the vamps are finding their victims. He manages to talk through the rest of Dean’s burger and half of his fries.

“…so what do you think?”

“Hrm?” He wasn’t really listening to the last part.

“About the victims being members of the same country club?” Another bitchface.

“Sammy,” Dean says as he swallows the last mouthful of fries, grabs their copy of the receipt, and gets up, pleasantly full. “Do you really think there’s a country club within a hundred miles of here?”

Sam ponders this for a moment, than shrugs. “Yeah, probably not.”

“C’mon, Benny wants to meet you.” Dean drags Sam up to the counter—where only a few customers remain by now—and gets Benny’s attention.

“Benny? This is Sam. Sammy, this is Benny.” Hopefully this will be quick and painless.

“Nice to meet you.” Benny extends his hand, and Sam shakes it.

“So, you met Dean last time we were here, he said. Back when he was seventeen and you were…?”

Benny’s about to say something, but Dean cuts both of them off. “Okay, great, you guys got to meet, fantastic. Time to go. See you, man.”

Benny barely gets a reply in before Dean’s shoving Sam out the door, turning back to wave and seeing Benny grin and tip his cap back at him.


	2. part ii

Two nights later, Dean notices through exhaustion-blurred eyes that there’s a folded piece of paper taped just above the doorknob when he fumbles to unlock the motel room. He wipes his still-bloody hand on his jeans and plucks the note off while he waits for Sam to grab the bags from the Impala.

“Dibs on the shower, man. I think I still have chunks of vampire in my hair,” Sam complains with a grimace as he pulls what looks like a piece of ear from his hair.

“Yeah? Maybe you wanna cut it, Fabio,” Dean teases.

Sam rolls his eyes as he grabs clean boxers and a t-shirt not covered in vampire guts and shuts himself in the bathroom. Once Sam’s safely out of sight, Dean unfolds the note.

 

_I’ll be off work early so I thought I’d take you up on that drink. Call me or stop by the diner if you’re still interested. ~ Benny_

Dean looks down at his watch, then wipes the guts off its face and checks the time. It’s around eight—late for taking on a nest of vamps, except on days like today when the sun stayed up until sometime around nine. He’s not sure what time Benny will be done, but he knows that he probably won’t be able to answer a call while he’s in the kitchen.

While Sam finishes his shower, Dean rummages through his bags for something to wear. All of his jeans sport holes in the knees and frayed cuffs, but he finds a pair that are cleaner and less worn than the others. He’s comparing two shirts—one green plaid, one red and blue—when Sam reappears. He raises an eyebrow at Dean but then gets a look of realization that makes Dean very worried.

“You have plans? Wait, are you meeting Benny?”

It probably wasn’t too difficult for Sam’s freaky super-brain to figure out. The only time he cares what he’s wearing is when he’s trying to score, after all.

“Shut up and help me.”

Sam smirks and points to the green one. “Goes with your eyes.”

“Wow, thanks Samantha, wanna help me do my hair too?”

“Hey, you asked for my help!” Great, now Sam’s pouting like a five-year-old. He can’t win.

“Did you take my cologne again?”

“Wow, cologne? You must really want to impress this guy. Yeah, it’s in the bathroom.”

Dean just grabs his clothes and locks himself in the bathroom, showering quickly and somehow convincing his body that an erection could wait until later. Much as he might want to remain under the hot water and jack off to oft-recalled memories, the real thing is waiting for him. And one good thing about being older—even if it can be a mixed blessing—is that he’s managed to get his dick under control so he’s not walking around with a practically-constant hard-on.

When he leaves, Sam shouts after him to remember to make good choices, and Dean knocks on the window once he’s outside, then flips his brother off once Sam gets up and draws the curtain back. The bitchface he earns is worth it.

He’s still grinning about it when he parks at the diner. The waitress, one he doesn’t recognize, tells him Benny’s out back taking a break. She jabs a thumb in the direction of the door, but Dean knows the way. It’s disorienting to see Benny sitting there, a strange collision of past and present, though the chairs are different. Benny’s thumbing at his phone but looks up at the creak of the screen door.

“Sorry I didn’t call, thought you’d be too busy to check your phone.”

Benny slips the phone back into a pocket and leans back, mouth quirking into a smile. “It’s kind of a slow night. I’ve been out here for a while.” He picks up a beer from where it leans against the chair leg. “Got an early start…that is, if you still want that drink?”

Dean’s distracted by the way Benny’s lips purse around the mouth of the bottle, making Dean’s own mouth go dry, but he manages to answer without missing a beat. “Nah, just thought I’d come down here and watch you cook. I’m just here for the pie.”

Benny laughs at that. “It’s good, but it ain’t that good.”

“You would know,” Dean quips back. They fall silent, but it’s companionable, easy.

“Benny, you still out here?” The waitress pokes her head out.

“Yeah, I’m coming in a minute,” he tells her, and she disappears back into the diner. Dean looks back to Benny only to see that the other man is watching him, and Dean can’t look away.

They both seem to move at once, going from seated and still to suddenly standing, and then they’re kissing, mouths pressed hard together until one of them laps at the other’s lips, and then their tongues meet. Hands grasp at layers of fabric, anchoring their bodies against the mutual surge of desire that propelled them together. The kiss is harsh and breathless, ending suddenly when they each pull back to stare at the other in surprise.

“I— uh— sorry, I didn’t—” Dean tries to cover, but Benny just shakes his head, his eyes never leaving Dean’s.

“I’ve wanted to do that since you showed up on my porch.”

“Good,” Dean manages to say, before he’s leaning in once again to ravage Benny’s mouth. The other man is like a magnet; Dean wants to move closer, to be around him and in him and never let go because _damn_ the things Benny is already doing with his tongue make him want to find out what the man could do with it in other places. Benny manhandles Dean over to press him against the door frame, fingers fisted in Dean’s shirt collar, but all too soon he’s leaning back to catch his breath.

“Shit, I— I have another two hours of work,” he says with a wry laugh.

Dean licks his lips and watches Benny’s eyes lock onto the sweep of his tongue. “Yeah, well,” he pants, “how about some of that pie then?”

Benny laughs with real amusement as steps back to fix his own shirt. Dean doesn’t remember unbuttoning the henley, but he’s not surprised that he was distracted by the way Benny was kissing him back. Dean straightens his own collar, then follows Benny back inside, hoping he looks presentable enough. The waitress gives them a look but thankfully doesn’t comment, too busy chatting with a table of college-age kids to harass him and Benny.

Dean can’t sit here for two hours with a half-developed erection, fighting wanting to haul Benny back outside, so he takes his pie to go and tells Benny to text him. The man just nods, heat in his eyes. Dean can feel watching him as he leaves.

Sam’s still at the motel when Dean gets back, with a pitying brow-furrow for his brother.

“So…things didn’t, uh—”

Dean just gives him a look to rival Sam’s own faces. “Are you kidding me? Dude, he has to work for another hour and a half.”

“Oh. Sorry I just thought you were back kind of early.”

Dean just grabs the container of pie and flops onto his bed, flipping the TV over to some cooking show. “Haven’t lost it quite yet, little brother.” He grabs a pillow to hold his pie plate and also, conveniently, hide his erection. Because it isn’t going away, despite trying to distract himself with food. The way Benny had latched onto him, had practically tongue-fucked his mouth, had urged Dean on like he couldn’t get enough…Dean shifts on the bed, his skin much too warm and his pants much too tight. He glances over at Sam, whose nose is still buried in his book.

Three and a half cooking shows later, he’s about to just go lock himself in the bathroom and finish himself—because _christ_ he’s still half hard, and the more he tries not to think of Benny, the more difficult it gets—when his phone vibrates.

 

_Meet me at my place. ~ Benny_

Thank _fuck_. He practically leaps off the bed, yelling back to Sam not to wait up as he grabs his jacket and hauls ass to the Impala. He blasts AC/DC on the way, letting the music settle into his bones over the tension of anticipation. Even in the dark, it’s easy to find his way, and he pulls up to Benny’s in ten minutes less than it had taken him before. He hasn’t wanted someone this bad in a long time, and he’s not waiting any longer than he has to, now that he knows Benny wants him just as bad. Dean strides up the steps, bathed in the dim yellow light from the living room that’s seeping through the curtains, and raps on the door.

When the door swings open, Dean holds back just long enough for Benny to let him in and close it before he’s hauling the other man closer by his suspenders and slotting their mouths firmly together. Benny doesn’t resist, instead reaching to splay a hand on Dean’s back and cup Dean’s face in his other hand, the hard lines of his body pressed against Dean’s, hip to hip. While Dean’s tongue is busy exploring every inch of his mouth, Benny walks them carefully backwards to the living room and the couch. Dean breaks away long enough to shove Benny down, strip off his own shirts (shouldn’t have put so much effort into picking a damn outfit), and clamber to straddle Benny’s thighs.

Benny just watches him with hungry, wondering eyes, reaching up a hand to rub his calloused thumb against the chapped skin of Dean’s lower lip as he cups Dean’s chin and studies him in the dim light.

“You look…the same,” he says with a laugh, and Dean knows it’s mostly true. He’s taller, thicker, more filled-out, but his face hasn’t changed much.

“So do you,” he answers, and that’s true too. “But I’m not a kid anymore.”

“Seem to recall you saying something like that the last time,” Benny teases, until Dean lets his thighs fall open just a little farther and grinds down against Benny in a gyrating circle. Then he’s swearing and dragging Dean back in for more filthy kisses, letting one of his hands fall to hold Dean just above the jut of his hipbone while pressing his own hips up, urging Dean to keep moving.

“I’m not a kid anymore,” he repeats as his hips continue to circle and he leans in close to murmur the words against the skin of Benny’s neck, letting his nose brush against the man’s jaw, tracing the curve up to his ear. “And this isn’t my first rodeo.”

“I remember that too,” Benny manages to say as Dean bites at the soft, stubbled skin of his throat, nipping hard enough to leave marks as he makes his way back up to Benny’s mouth.

The world shifts as he’s suddenly jerked off of Benny’s lap, ending up on the couch with Benny kneeling over him, hands gripping the couch back on either side of Dean’s head. He’d deny it, but having Benny looming over him, clearly in control, has him even more painfully hard in his jeans. He can feel the precome smearing into his boxers where the head of his cock is pressed against the fabric, but he’s not at all surprised. He smirks up at Benny, leaning up for a kiss that lasts minutes, deep and dirty enough to make both of them groan quietly. But Dean’s not going to let Benny take control that easily—not this time.

He reaches up and pulls Benny’s suspenders down, then untucks the other man’s shirt, sliding it up until Benny has to let go of the couch and balance on his knees to pull it over his head. While the shirt covers his face, Dean wriggles down and unbuttons his jeans, grinning mischievously when Benny finally gets the shirt off and looks down to see Dean’s mouth barely an inch away from his dick, still restrained by his boxer briefs. Benny’s hands fall back to the couch as he watches Dean peel the fabric down, placing the taut band just below his balls.

Dean meets Benny’s lust-blown eyes with his own as he tugs the man’s hips closer and mouths gently at the head of Benny’s cock, smearing the precome there over his lips before lapping it gently away from the slit. He doesn’t know what the word Benny hisses means, but he gets the general idea…and he really, _really_ wants to hear more. He presses his lips together and slowly drags Benny’s cock through the tight seal of his mouth, savoring the buck of Benny’s hips as his mouth reaches dark curls and the head of Benny’s dick hits the back of his throat.

“Merde, _merde_ —” Benny chokes out as his hips thrust forward sharp enough to make Dean’s eyes water, but he just swallows and pulls Benny back just far enough that he can thrust forward again, until he’s fucking Dean’s mouth, his eyes never leaving the man under him.

But Dean only allows him a few more thrusts before he shoves Benny away. Benny’s eyes widen; the Dean he’d met all those years ago wouldn’t have been able to manhandle him like Dean just did. Dean strips off the rest of his clothes, and Benny’s eyes roam over his naked body, landing on the hard-on between his legs before flicking back up to meet Dean’s gaze. Dean just turns away and kneels on the couch, knees spread and hands grasping the back where Benny’s hands had just been. When he glances back over his shoulder with a smirk curling his lips, Benny’s eyes widen even further.

“Well?” He sounds completely fucked-out, his voice hoarse. He likes it.

Before he can turn away again, Benny’s right behind him. He can feel the soft scrape of the man’s nipples, the scratch of the hair on his chest over the smooth skin of his own back, the swell of Benny’s cock in the cleft of his ass. He grinds back against it, eliciting more cursing before Benny’s tipping his head back to bite at the dip between neck and shoulder. Dean shudders as Benny’s tongue laps at the marks he leaves.

“I like you like this,” Benny murmurs. “Before, you were…but now, even better.” Dean’s pleased that the man can barely form sentences and responds with another swivel of his hips.

“Yeah, what’re you gonna do about it?” he challenges, panting.

Dean finds out when Benny pulls his knees closer to the edge of the couch and kneels to lick down over his tailbone and farther, ending up with his tongue lapping at the rim of Dean’s hole. Dean gasps at the sudden flutter of lust in his gut, then it’s his turn to babble as Benny presses his tongue further, working in and out in a mimicry of how Dean had sucked him. It’s enough to make Dean’s legs shake as he cries out at a particularly well-placed stroke.

“God _damn_ ,” he hisses, trying not to thrust back, though Benny’s keeping him still with the strong grip of his hands holding Dean apart as he works him open, loose, and wet. His thighs keep shaking until he has to clench his eyes closed and rest his head against his forearm and concentrate on _not coming_ , because Benny seems to know exactly how to make him a quivering mess just like this.

But Benny also seems to know how close Dean’s getting, because he pulls back, panting hot, wet breaths against the skin just above Dean’s ass. When he stands and presses a kiss to the back of Dean’s neck, he curses quietly. “Gotta run upstairs.”

Dean just cocks a thumb over his shoulder at the pile of clothes strewn across the floor. “Coat pocket.”

Benny laughs and searches through the discarded shirts and pants until he finds the coat, and the condom tucked inside the pocket. Dean watches him straighten and walk back over to the couch, solid and muscular, cock full and swaying as he moves. When his gaze meets Benny’s, the man steps closer, turning Dean’s face away again. He nibbles the edge of Dean’s ear as he puts on the condom, whispers, “I remember how good you feel.”

At the press of slick fingers, Dean also recalls that he’d brought lube, but at this point he’s been fucked open wide on Benny’s tongue. Finally, _finally_ , he feels the head of Benny’s cock nudging at his hole as the man moves closer, grabs his hip and shoulder, and thrusts in, slow but deep. The noise he wrings from Dean is half-sob, half-groan. He’s been with plenty of men since his first time with Benny, but not many of them had filled him up so completely like this, like he’d been made to fit inside Dean perfectly.

Benny kneels on the couch behind him, shoving Dean against the couch back, fucking him with paced, deliberate movements as they both try to regain some control. When Benny groans, Dean can feel the vibration against him, reminding him back of the motel room where Benny had been the first person to fuck him, the first person (and one of few) to make him come so hard he’d practically passed out. The memory makes him thrust his hips as he arches his back, wanting Benny even deeper. He’s no longer some blushing virgin, and fuck if he isn’t going to enjoy every moment of this.

Minutes later, the rhythm of Benny’s thrusts is just starting to quicken when Dean gets an idea. “Stop a minute,” he pants out, and Benny pulls away immediately. The concern in his eyes disappears when Dean grins at him and says, “Get on the floor,” practically tackling the man. Thank god there’s a nice thick carpet, because hardwood wouldn’t be ideal for what Dean has in mind. He climbs on top of Benny and sinks back down on his dick, hissing at the feeling after their brief separation.

“Gonna ride you until we both come, sound good?” he rasps out, and Benny just drags him down for a kiss that sets every nerve ending on fire in Dean’s body that wasn’t already ablaze. He straightens back up and gyrates his hips, throwing his head back at the sensations the movement causes. Benny’s hands slide to his hips, and Dean grabs his wrists as he undulates, moving quicker and harder before long. Benny’s knees come up to support him, and the new angle sends a white-hot jolt through him, knocking the air from his lungs as Benny hits the spot again and again. It’s all he can do to moan and keep moving, grunting when Benny encourages him, groaning out a barely coherent string of words: “Dean, yes, that’s it, sugar,” and more French and Cajun and who-the-fuck-cares, it sounds downright filthy, and Dean savors every syllable as he rides the man beneath him.

He’s barely managing to hold on until he feels Benny’s thick fingers wrap around his cock, jerking in time with his own thrusts, and then his gut clenches and he’s coming with a hoarse cry. His body shakes, and he’s gasping for air, but Benny doesn’t stop moving, keeping Dean awash in muddled bliss until he spills hot and thick into Dean. Dean rests his forehead on Benny’s sweat- and come-slick chest, slowly regaining his ability to think as they both come down.

When Dean sits up, sliding off Benny with a slight wince, their eyes meet and neither looks away. There’s less intensity than before, but the focus remains as they study each other. It isn’t awkward, the way it is sometimes afterwards, but Dean moves anyway, silently beginning to collect his clothes. Benny just leans up on his elbows and watches him.

“In a hurry?” His tone is teasing, but the words make Dean stop what he’s doing.

“Uh, I mean, Sam…but if you want…” It may have been a long time since he’s slept with anyone, but it’s been even longer since he’s stayed the night.

“Your brother manage to break something since I saw him?”

“Well, no,” Dean says with a grin that matches the one Benny’s sporting now.

“Then he can take care of himself for the night.”

“You’ve got a point. Do you also have a bed to go along with that point, ‘cause comfortable as the floor was…”

Benny stands and take Dean’s clothes from him, throwing them to the couch. “You won’t be needing those, sugar. Bed’s this way. I have a couple more things to show you.”

“Don’t know how game my body’s gonna be for another round so soon, but you’re more than welcome to try, babe.” The pet name slips out unexpectedly, but he’s too satiated to care. He’ll worry about his manliness later, when he isn’t contemplating what else Benny plans to do with that fantastically skilled tongue of his.

“Then I certainly will,” Benny replies as he ushers Dean through narrow, dark hallways until they reach Benny’s room, and Benny’s bed, where Benny shows Dean several things, a favor Dean returns enthusiastically.

 

 

 

Dean takes his time waking up the next morning, relieved that although he’s at least managed to avoid becoming little spoon, even if Benny is actually still larger than him. He checks his phone, grumbling quietly at the time that glares back at him, and burrows back under the covers. When given the opportunity, Dean Winchester is not a morning person. Especially not after a night like the one he just spent getting fucked and blown and fucked again six ways from Sunday.

The next time he opens his eyes, much later, Benny’s stretching and blinking as he sits up to rest again the headboard and look down at Dean.

“Mornin’. Now, I don’t normally offer, but I feel I could make an exception. Breakfast?”

Dean just stares back for a moment. “Fuck yes.”

Benny slides out of bed and wanders naked to the living room. Dean follows, wincing slightly as he goes. By the time he reaches the living room, Benny’s put his pants back on, suspenders still hanging, and has started taking eggs and more out of the fridge.

They talk as they eat, once Dean’s gotten dressed and Benny’s finished cooking enough food for three people, but neither of them brings up the inevitable.

 

 

 

They’re about to hit the road the next morning when Sam finally asks him, as they slide into the car, Dean very gingerly.

“Are you and Benny gonna see each other again? I mean, if you wait that long again—”

Dean glares straight-mouthed at his brother. “—we might both be dead by the time we do? Okay, Debbie Downer, thanks for that.”

“That’s not exactly where I was going, but yeah, I guess.”

“Don’t worry that big ol’ head of yours, Sammy.” Dean starts the Impala, then reaches into his coat pocket for his phone, waggling it in Sam’s face so his brother can see the address book entry for Benny. “We’re gonna stay in touch.” And by stay in touch, he means he’s gonna find every excuse to drive through this part of Louisiana on their travels as possible. He wonders absently how good Benny is with a shotgun and whether he believes in ghosts.

Sam’s about to say something in response when Dean cuts him off. “And if you keep freakin’ pestering me about it, I’ll give you all the gory details.”

His brother goes pale and faces the window. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

Dean hums along with the music and slips on his sunglasses as they head west.

**Author's Note:**

> This ended up being a LOT longer than I'd planned.  
>  
> 
> Cover stock: Screencapped.net  
> Cover font: 1001 Fonts


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